


トゥール

by silvakuros



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Gift Fic, Gore, Guro, Immortality, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Ouma cant die... or can he ?, Painplay, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Sadism, Stabbing, That starts a series!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvakuros/pseuds/silvakuros
Summary: When Ouma Kokichi reveals he can heal from any physical injury, Saihara Shuichi realizes there is a reason he fell in love with him.-“So you really can heal from anything that happens?” Saihara asked once more for clarification, as if the physical proof wasn’t enough. He just had to be sure what he was looking at was real and not some joke.But Ouma would never joke about something like that.“I told you… It doesn’t matter what it is, I always wake up like this.” He couldn’t reveal it again, but Ouma unconsciously placed his hand over the area Saihara had been touching before.It wasn’t simply the jitters of having his crush so close he could feel his breath on his skin; it was the exposing of his biggest secret, his largest shame.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 36
Kudos: 162





	トゥール

“Wow…”

“Um…”

“That’s amazing, huh…”

“Umm…”

“It really healed already. You weren’t lying at all, Ouma-kun.” Saihara finally pulled his fingers away from running them repeatedly over the dip in Ouma’s collarbone, a stuttering exhale leaving the other boy as he felt he could breathe properly now. It was hard to get any breaths in with the hot fingers fluttering over his neck. The touch was sending his heart rate skyrocketing and his body rigid with some unspeakable mix of young-love-filled anxiety.

“Y-Yeah.” Ouma pulled the neck of his jacket back into place once he was sure Saihara was satisfied with looking, but he couldn’t bring his slightly shaking fingers to button it up just yet.

It wasn’t simply the jitters of having his crush so close he could feel his breath on his skin; it was the exposing of his biggest secret, his largest shame.

“So you really can heal from anything that happens?” Saihara asked once more for clarification, as if the physical proof wasn’t enough. He just had to be sure what he was looking at was real and not some joke.

But Ouma would never joke about something like that.

“I told you… It doesn’t matter what it is, I always wake up like this.” He couldn’t reveal it again, but Ouma unconsciously placed his hand over the area Saihara had been touching before. He was referencing the pristine condition of the skin there, so different from what it had looked like only yesterday.

Well, there was no way he could fake that, at least. Saihara had gotten as close as he could, smelled it, rubbed it, inspected it thoroughly for any sign of makeup, but found nothing. All he could smell was Ouma’s clean, natural scent, nothing covering it.

It was just Ouma’s skin, completely smooth and healed. Nothing like what it had looked like once he had parted ways with him at the end of the day.

They were walking home from an after-school meetup at a fast food place when something that had always lurked on the edge of Saihara’s mind clicked into actual words. It was the sight of Ouma’s left cheek, facing him as he looked down at his shoes, stuck in his own thoughts, that made it dawn on him.

That pale cheek was flawless, when the day before there had been a gash across it that would have definitely left a scar. Not just a scab, but a scar. And upon that realization, it was blatantly obvious Saihara had been missing something so apparent. Ouma’s entire body, not just his face, but his knuckles, his knees, his elbows, should have all been scarred. Every inch of his body should have been permanently marked, but it never was.

He was always bandaged for one reason or another, and bruises were easy to explain away with being a “quick healer”. But lasting gashes and perhaps a broken nose or fingers, that would be expected too. Yet they were never there, and because of the mass of rotating bandages, even the unnaturally astute Saihara had missed something so obvious.

It was Ouma’s lapse that day, whether it be from his own forgetfulness or lack of having anything to bandage himself with, that started to unravel the image around him. What Saihara had always thought of as the truth of Ouma.

“Hey, Ouma-kun.” He stopped abruptly, not one to put off something when it came to the front of his mind. The absent-minded boy stumbled a bit as he was ripped from his thoughts, looking back at Saihara with a slightly frightened gaze.

“What is it, Saihara-kun?”

The innocent look on his face meant nothing to Saihara, and he pushed forward with his blunt questioning, “Do you fake being hurt?”

Whatever emotions flitted through Ouma’s eyes at that moment were lost in the reflection from the setting sun, and instead he only showed his furrowed eyebrows over his wide eyes.

“What… What do you mean?”

“Your face, it’s healed. You had a wound-” Saihara dragged his own long nail across his cheek to signal where he was talking about. “-right here on your face yesterday, but it’s gone now.”

Ouma put a hand against his cheek, his weak heart stuttering when he felt nothing there. What had he done?

He knew Saihara was the type to not let up on something like this. What lie could he think up, what could he do? The pocket knife that had ripped into his skin there was sharp enough to leave a cut that would scab over and bleed every time he smiled, it wasn’t easily explainable. What was he going to do? What could he do?

He didn’t want Saihara to know the truth, the truth he had done his best to hide his whole life. But knowing he thought of Ouma as someone who would lie to him, that was a worse reality than anything else he could imagine.

Even though he would, he had considered doing it just then. Ouma liked to lie to himself about his lying. Because at the heart of it, it was never about anyone else. It was all for self-preservation. 

He never got the chance to, though.

“You always have all of these wounds on your body, but they never leave a mark. And they all seem to go away pretty fast,” Almost as if he was chiding himself for not noticing, he added, “I don’t know how I didn’t notice until now.”

He always prided himself in his observant nature, what he considered his detective-like qualities. Always noting his surroundings, always aware. But somehow Ouma had slipped through the cracks and out of his sweeping sight.

Not now, he was trapped under his vivid, yellow eyes. And he wasn’t shifting away this time.

“They’re not… fake…” They were definitely real. Ouma felt all of the pain in unforgettable clarity.

“It makes no sense otherwise.”

“It’s-”

“You can rotate bandages and some people may not notice, but the other things are harder to fabricate.”

“I-I-”

“But with just some light SFX makeup I guess you could do it. That would mean you’re pretty talented, to do it every day.”

“But I-”

“It still wouldn’t make sense why, though.” Saihara was relentless, almost staring through Ouma as he rattled off the possibilities for a scenario he was following in his mind, not paying any attention to what was in front of him.

“S-Saihara-kun!” It was Ouma that interrupted him this time, and that caught the other off-guard. He caught himself off-guard, too. “It’s not like that at all.”

“...Then what is it?” Cold, completely devoid of sympathy for the nervously fidgeting boy. He just wanted answers to what interested him, what else mattered?

“I… I’ll tell you, okay? Just- Just come with me, please,” Ouma glanced around as he spoke, aware of the space that had formed between them and the other people who idled by. A sort of oval that curved away as they stood facing each other with an increasingly hectic conversation. Everyone that passed by was interested enough to turn their heads, but wary enough to leave a sizeable gap between their path and the boys.

“Okay.” Saihara sounded excited.

When Ouma’s explanation had been, “I heal from every injury I get overnight, without any permanent damage,” Saihara had to pause and think of a plan.

Assuming it was real, that it wasn’t a desperately lonely boy’s poor attempt at keeping the only person by his side to stay, that this actually happened to Ouma, then there was some major testing to be done.

It wasn’t testing that Saihara was reluctant to carry out. He didn’t seem apprehensive at all, actually, and that was surprising to Ouma for a couple of reasons. All of which stopped whirling in his head the second a blade pressed up against his neck.

He thought about emoting, his typical ‘Um’ or ‘Uh’, but instead just exhaled through his nose as calmly as he could. The more he noticed the knife against his skin, the harder it got to control his breathing. And the more erratic his breaths got, the more the knife dragged against his skin in tiny shivers. It was quite the predicament.

But he just couldn’t stop shaking, even if it was Saihara that held the knife. He wouldn’t explain it with ‘Well, anyone would be scared if there was a sharp object at their throat.’ He couldn’t, because he wasn’t scared at all. Not of the physical pain, that had lost its ability to make him as absolutely terrified as he was now.

It was because it was _Saihara_ that was holding the knife. He was closer than he had ever been before, the heat of his hands hovering over the pulse in Ouma’s neck and making him shudder. He could feel the sweat forming in his palms, and when he glanced nervously up through his bangs at Saihara towering over him, he thought he saw something anxious in his eyes, too.

Saihara wasn’t anxious about the physical touch aspect of it at all. He was more concerned with where to cut. He couldn’t do anything too obvious, or anything too deep, but it had to be recognizable enough he could make sure it was the exact same thing tomorrow. Nothing that could be faked, or doctored up. When his eyes trailed down from Ouma’s skipping pulse, visible in his neck, to the dip of his collarbone, he decided.

“I’m going to do it here,” the knife settled directly into the gap formed by his prominent collarbones as Saihara spoke. “Cut inside of here.”

Ouma kept looking up as Saihara gazed at him expectantly, not pushing the knife in any farther than it was. His face was completely placid, not hesitant at all, but he was still. It was like he was waiting for something.

It took Ouma a few lengthy seconds to realize he was waiting for permission. For Ouma to tell him it was okay to hurt him.

“O...kay…?” Was that enough? No one had ever wanted his consent before, and it was weird to give it for that reason. But it was so like Saihara to do that. To care about something Ouma wouldn’t expect him to. To show some semblance of care where others had not. To have something behind his always blank, twisted eyes.

“Okay,” Saihara echoed his compliance and immediately pushed the knife in.

It was a pocket knife, so it couldn’t go very deep to begin with, but Saihara made an effort to not use more than the tip. He didn’t want to actually _kill_ Ouma with something like this. Just tear him open so he could see inside, into his innermost secret.

But Ouma didn’t know that, all he knew was that there was a knife entering his skin, and pulling it apart brutally. He didn’t yell out, or tell Saihara to stop, because he knew it wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t solve the misunderstanding, or make Saihara like him more. And he wanted this, too. He wanted to finally share everything with the boy he liked, spread himself open for him to do with as he pleased. He wanted Saihara to like him, too. And that’s what you did when you loved someone, right?

All Ouma did was inhale harshly, his body flinching in response, but not pulling away. All he did was shiver when Saihara began to drag the knife toward his own body.

It was a bit resistant, a pocket knife wasn’t the sharpest thing in the world. But the skin still split, and as he pulled against it, the blood began to bubble up around the blade.

It was really pretty, Ouma’s blood. He had always seen it clotted up underneath his skin, or dried around his wounds in flakes, but never fresh. It was striking and smooth, it trickled into the cavity of his collarbone and began to pool there, around where the knife moved forward. It looked so warm, so right, so refreshing. Tasty, almost.

All sounds were drowned out as he focused in on that blood, and the continual cutting of the knife. He could have sawed through Ouma, got something bigger and severed his bones right in half. He could imagine rubbing it back and forth against the hard parts inside of his body, the blood squishing out between his palms as he pushed as far as he could go. He was feeling so excited at the thought of it, at everything that was happening, that he had lost himself in the feeling of cutting into Ouma.

He was pulled from it when he felt Ouma wincing repeatedly beneath him, his small voice calling through the fog of his thoughts, “Um Saihara-kun, I- Aa- It’s, I don’t think it can-”

Ouma winced again as the knife tugged against the impenetrable barrier of his bone, his whole body jarring with the small movement Saihara made. The knife had cleared the dip in his collar and come out to meet with the bone again, stopping it from moving any farther. When it had first sliced through the skin covering his bone, his whole body wracked with pain. It hurt so much tears formed in his eyes. But now it was just a pressure as Saihara, apparently unaware, tugged in a futile effort to get past it.

Upon realizing what he was doing, Saihara stopped moving and pulled the knife out. It stung, but then again the whole thing had, and Ouma swallowed to keep the pained noise inside of him. His mouth was unbearably dry.

Saihara’s, in comparison, was wet with drool, threatening to spill over as he swallowed to keep it all inside of him.

Looking down at the wound he had made, he saw the blood fill the crevice of Ouma’s collarbone. It completely covered the wound, and only the beginning and end were visible, where he had run into the bone. If that hadn’t been there, he had no doubt he would have gone until his whole shoulder was split.

The smaller boy’s shoulders were quaking, and Saihara sat down next to him, moving his jacket to the side so he could take the spot closest to him.

“Did it hurt?”

“Mhm.”

“So you can still feel pain?”

“Yeah,” Ouma said, almost bitterly, and Saihara nodded.

“That’s good.”

It was?

They didn’t bandage the cut, just dabbed up the blood and put Ouma’s jacket back on him. So much wasted blood, Saihara looked at the bloody tissue in the trash can with wistful longing. He wanted to wring it into his mouth.

This wasn’t any sort of awakening for him, he had always known about his ‘proclivities’. Ever since he was a child, sitting straight faced watching videos of bodies splattering against the pavement and shock images of faces split in two. It never bothered him.

It was when he started thinking about himself doing it that it became more than a net-dwelling kid that was unfazed by gore. It became something stranger. 

The idea of stabbing into someone had always sent him into a giddy fit. He was unable to sit still as he imagined the wriggling of the flayed skin against his hand gripping a knife. The feeling of the blood gushing out in his palms, dripping it into his mouth, covering him totally, his body was sent into a thrill at the thought of it. And this had all started before he had any concept of the sexual.

Once he reached the age where he did, it was almost as if it was meant to fit in with his desires. There was no removing this depraved part of himself, especially from his other unconventional cravings. When he grasped the ability to imagine the whole scenario around it, someone beneath him twitching in pleasure, begging for him, for his pain, he was never able to get that thirst from his mind.

It wasn’t something you could get easily, because he didn’t want to just hurt some random person. He wanted someone to plead for it, to want it too. That was where his gore obsession had landed him, needing a more than willing participant.

And that was where it all became impossible, because that was difficult to find. At least in the flesh, people liked to talk a lot of game online, but nothing they’d be willing to do in real life. It wasn’t like Saihara wanted to do anything like that with some anonymous stranger anyway, he preferred to interact with other humans face-to-face as little as possible. Online was fine, but talking to others in real life wasn’t on his ‘Top Favorite Activities' list. Especially strangers.

It was just a fantasy, a rather specific and unattainable one. One he kept locked in the back of his mind.

But here he was, with a drop of Ouma’s blood on his finger, and the memory of slicing into his skin reverberating in his muscles. Every part of his body felt tense, especially at the memory of Ouma looking up at him and telling him it was okay.

He swiped the wet remnants of Ouma’s blood into his mouth when the other was busy putting his jacket back on, and felt something inside of him shift. Like he had unlocked the thing he should have left buried deep below.

He had no shame in admitting he touched himself repeatedly that night while he sucked on the finger that had that small bit of blood on it. If that was enough to send him into a fit, he wondered what it would be like if he had pools of it. Dripping down his throat, covering his mouth… He kept touching himself once he imagined that.

But there was no blood anywhere now, just Ouma’s perfectly pristine skin, free from all blemishes. He had always had a weirdly good complexion for someone that got the shit kicked out of them regularly and never seemed to sleep. Guess that explained it.

“...I guess I have to believe it then.” He was reluctant, to say the least, but there really was no other explanation. There was absolutely nothing there, and he knew for a fact he hadn’t made all that up in his head. He still felt the echoes of it ringing in his tight muscles and on his tongue. There was no fabricating any of this.

“Um…” Ouma glanced to the side, avoiding Saihara’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Well, realistically it’s something you shouldn’t tell anyone,” Saihara spoke coolly, his brain trying to piece together the genuineness of the situation around them. “You never know what someone would try to do with a power like that.”

What was Saihara thinking?

Ouma couldn’t understand what it was behind his upturned eyes, but he did his best to push that worry down. He was right, it was something Ouma had considered when he realized he was different. Well, when he was old enough to realize something like that might happen to him.

Someone had picked his head up from the dirty ground by the roots of his hair and laughed, their spit flying into his face. And they said, “You’re so much fun to fuck around with, you never break!”

That was when he realized what someone like him could be used for.

“So, don’t worry about not telling me. I forgive you.”

Saihara’s forgiveness was warm and like a hug. Like something Ouma had never felt before. With every feeling Saihara gave him, it came in intense colors of feelings he had already experienced. Happiness was so much brighter. Nervousness was so much more gripping. The loneliness of his back turned as he walked away was like he was being dropped into an endless darkness that he could only claw his way out of when Saihara’s bright eyes were back on him again. Love felt like it was going to eat Ouma from the inside out, like he was turning rotten in shades of pink and red.

He looked up at the boy standing over him, and his lips cracked into a weak smile. A pathetic sight, really, Ouma was just pathetic. But it made Saihara’s heart shudder.

“Okay then.” Ouma shifted to the side slightly when Saihara sat down next to him, the bed they were on bouncing as it accepted his added weight. It was silent for a minute, but for once it wasn’t awkward. For once, Ouma didn’t feel awkward, embarrassed, scared, or anything he normally felt. He just kind of felt… at peace? Like he could relax his muscles that were always wound tight and just sit in the presence of someone else. His secret was out. The part of himself he had always hidden, and more so hoped no one would ever notice, had been exposed. It felt freeing, and he knew it was mostly because Saihara had been so accepting and kind.

He was finally known, finally seen, finally understood.

“Do you think you can die?” Saihara cut through the placid silence with his highly out of place question.

“H-Huh?” Ouma felt sucked back from swimming in the calm, now uncomfortably aware of Saihara’s shoulder pressed up against his. “I don’t, I mean… I’m not really sure…”

“So you’ve never been scared you were going to die?”

“No… I guess I never felt like I was going to?”

“No one’s ever tried to kill you?”

“I don’t think so.” Ouma glanced over at Saihara without turning his head, but the other’s hat covered the left side of his face so much he couldn’t glimpse his eyes. “Saihara-kun, why are you asking this?”

Saihara lifted his head up slightly, and Ouma could finally see his eyes. He looked how he always did.

“I was just curious.”

What did they do now?

Ouma’s secret was out, but that was about all there was to it. Did they start playing games like they normally did? Or grab some snacks at the convenience store first? Ouma had wanted to take a look at Saihara’s homework, see if he could help him at all. Saihara wasn’t dumb by any means, just unmotivated when it came to things he didn’t care about. And Ouma was so motivated by Saihara’s presence itself that he could do anything, especially some basic essay mapping.

But there was no going back to ‘normal’ for Saihara. The blood was in the back of his throat, it’s taste wouldn’t wash away no matter what he drank or how much he swallowed. That taste was never going to leave him, and that deep want that had bubbled up to the surface couldn’t be pushed back down.

He couldn’t control himself.

“How do you feel about pain?” Saihara flickered his eyes over to Ouma, curious to see how the other responded to something so vague. “If it can’t kill you, do you hate it? The human body feels pain to keep you from dying, so if you can’t die, does it feel different to you?”

“That’s…” Ouma looked like he was drowning in the endless bombardment of questions that had been thrown at him. He should have expected it, it was something crazy about himself he should be able to explain. But he really didn’t know much beyond what he had already said.

There were a few things he was keeping from Saihara, but he never wanted to share that. Like the first time he noticed he was different, how he intentionally set his hand over a candle until his skin burnt and bubbled over itself. Or how, as he got older, he learned that a sore bone or teeth digging into a busted lip felt kind of good. How it felt really good to him. It was still pain, it hurt, but it felt good.

“I think I feel it the same way anyone does, probably…” Ouma clarified a bit when he realized how vague it sounded. “I mean it hurts.”

“But why would it hurt if you can’t die?” He was mostly just working through his own musings out loud, but to Ouma it felt like he was being inquisitioned.

“I’m not really-”

“That seems evolutionarily pointless.”

“I g-guess I’m just a failed human, then,” Ouma laughed nervously after his self-deprecating attempt at humor, but he was never joking. He really meant it.

“I want to try something.” Saihara turned his head to look at Ouma straight-on, and the boy flinched for some reason. He kept eye contact, though.

“Okay…?”

“I’m going to try hurting you, and I want you to describe to me what you feel.” He was completely serious, no hint of a teasing smile on his face. But Saihara would never tease about something like this, his curiosity was too vast and twisted to allow that. Did Saihara ever tease? He liked to make Ouma uncomfortable for fun, sometimes, but he was always serious. He was never making things up.

“Um,” Ouma glanced to the side, unable to maintain eye contact, and also wanting to check their reflection in the television screen to make sure it was real. Saihara, slightly leaned in, and Ouma, slightly leaned back, mirrored back at him in black. He actually had to respond to this.

“Is that a good idea? I mean, I don’t want you to feel bad once I say it hurts-”

“I won’t feel bad.” Saihara was so sure it was alarming. “As long as you tell me it’s okay, I won’t feel bad at all.”

“Are you sure?” Why was Ouma turning himself into the one that was being accommodating when it should have been the other way around? Saihara wasn’t the one that was going to be in physical pain. But, making himself into the comforter was proof in itself that he was fine with it.

Saihara nodded, but Ouma didn’t feel the tension leave his body. No one he liked had ever hurt him. How would Saihara feel about that? People hurt him, he hurt himself, but that was all different. Horrible and different, it wouldn’t be like Saihara hurting him.

He was just scared Saihara would compare himself to them, start to think he was a monster. He was never afraid he would take advantage of it.

Saihara literally could not take advantage of Ouma, because anything he wanted to do, Ouma wanted him to do.

“Then, it’s fine…” Saihara’s sharp eyes seemed to need more, so Ouma sealed it with his words, “You can hurt me. I’ll try my best to tell you what it feels like.”

Ouma was propped up on his arms as he laid down on the bed, his pants removed. Saihara was rifling around in his desk, looking for something, and the boy watched his back the entire time. He had removed his school jacket, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, exposing his tendons twitching each time he twisted his arms in his search. It was making Ouma a bit excited, his feet unconsciously rubbing against each other as a heat filled his limbs. Every time Saihara exposed a portion of his skin, no matter where it was, it made him go a little crazy. It could be his hands, his ankles, his ears, as long as Ouma focused in on it, he could see every small movement and the colors in it perfectly. He could imagine what it would feel like to touch it as much as he wanted.

He felt pretty disgusting for it, he knew Saihara didn’t know he was looking at him with such dirty intentions, but that made it even harder to stop. He already denied himself so much of what he wanted from Saihara, his imagination was all he had. And it was very vivid.

Saihara didn’t have large arms but they were a soft and long expanse of his skin, so Ouma could imagine running his tongue up it until he left a thick trail of saliva. Dreaming of what it would taste like and how it would feel to have his skin dragging against his tongue, he almost forgot how exposed he was.

When Saihara asserted that Ouma should take his pants off, the other had a hard time understanding why at first. But, he did as he was told, and laid down just like the more assured boy motioned for him to do. He kept his legs pulled together, trying to cover himself but only succeeding in looking like a bow-legged mess. It was only Saihara, but that was what made him feel so exposed.

“Okay, found it,” Saihara announced, and the flustered wiggling Ouma had been using to release his pent-up frustration stopped immediately. He turned around to see Ouma’s calves pressed together, the top of his body partially obscured because of it.

“Are you nervous?”

“E-Eh? Ah, well, it’s just,” he opened his legs slightly as he spoke, half of Saihara’s inquiring face revealed as he moved. “I just feel kind of… Embarrassed.”

“Hm?” An interested noise was all Saihara offered, and he walked to the end of the bed, looking down at Ouma’s body. “The thigh is the best place to do this. It has the most area, and as long as you’re careful, you won’t hit any major arteries too easily. Not like with your arm or stomach.”

What exactly was Saihara planning?

“Oh, really?” Ouma let out a kind of unsure giggle, as if what he was saying made perfect sense to him. But it didn’t, not at all. “I-I see… I trust you then.”

Saihara’s face lifted into a smile at the praise, sending Ouma’s whole body into a warm spiral. He wasn’t shaking at all.

“So-” Lifting his hand he had lowered at his side, he revealed the item he had been searching for: A box cutter. “I’m not going to accidentally kill you. I’d have to do it on purpose.”

Was that a… joke? The timing of it made Ouma think he should laugh, and Saihara was still smiling, but the punchline fell flat. Even if he wanted to laugh, all he could do was swallow anxiously as Saihara climbed onto the bed in between his legs.

“Try not to move too much,” Saihara advised calmly, and placed his free hand onto Ouma’s warm thigh with an iron grip. The boy suddenly felt trapped, and he began to breathe erratically enough to move the entire bed with his exhales. His eyes flitted from the hand pressing his leg down, to Saihara’s gaze locked on him, the yellow swallowing him whole.

It was enough to calm him a bit, he was still shaking but in small quivering spurts. The disembodied feeling of being forced down and promised pain was horrific for him to experience, he had had enough of it, but once he realized it was Saihara, it melted away. When he saw Saihara’s slightly dilated pupils, into the black that enraptured him, he was subdued into excited nervousness. Nervous, but positively so. Saihara could touch him in any way and he would be aroused.

He kind of wanted to say that, something along the lines of ‘You can do whatever you want to me.’ But he was far too skittish for that, so he just leaned into his hand on his leg and nodded.

“Remember, you have to tell me how it feels.”

_‘I need you to tell me how it feels. I need to hear how it feels. I need you to tell me how I’m making you feel. I want to know what it feels like. I want to hear you say my name, I want you to tell me-’_

“Okay.” Ouma nodded again, and Saihara released the breath he had sucked inside of him without realizing. He already felt like he was going a bit insane and no blood had been spilled yet.

He could feel it underneath his hand, the faint heartbeat of Ouma’s artery beneath the fat in his leg. He wouldn’t have to cut too far on someone skinny like Ouma, past the yellow later and into the thick stream of blood that kept his body working. It would spray out, drench his white shirt and sheets until they were red to their deepest thread.

And Ouma could heal from all of that, maybe even if he died he could come back.

Were they soulmates?

Unable to contain himself anymore, he clicked the blade up several slots until the silver peeked out enough it was dangerous. That wasn’t just a surface wound, and a surface wound wasn’t what Saihara was planning on.

With a steady hand he pressed the blade into Ouma’s clean thigh, and saw the skin rise up around it instantly. He knew the second he started moving, it would split in two. He hadn’t used this yet, he was saving it for… Something, who knows. But he wasn’t going to use it on any sort of paper or cardboard. He didn’t know how sharp it would be, but it was already obvious it was sharper than he expected. Which got him even more excited.

“Um-” Ouma’s unintentional emoting was cut short when Saihara sunk the razor into him, severing his sounds with a high-pitched wheeze. He felt both sucked into his body by the pain, and propelled out at the same time by it. It was tearing through him and making him let out a long, disbelieving noise.

Saihara was really hurting him?

The feeling when the blade sunk into Ouma’s skin was indescribable. It was so soft, so malleable, he barely needed to use any effort at all. It squished against the knife as it sliced through without any resistance, blood welling up around the blue handle of the boxcutter where it touched the wound. So much anticipation had gone into the moment, it felt like a balloon had popped inside of Saihara, leaking out drool and thudding heartbeats into his mouth as he tried to swallow it down. He could feel himself losing control already, but he needed to keep a cool head to get more of what he wanted.

“O-w!” Ouma automatically began to convulse and wiggle, the primal reaction to pain inside of him taking control. It was why people who were just stabbed attempted to remove the foreign object even though it would kill them, why people kept moving even if they were breaths from death; the body knew something was wrong, something was unwelcome, and it wanted it to stop. It didn’t matter what was happening around it.

He thrust his fists into the sheets and tossed his head backward, gasping in another warbling breath. It was futile, no oxygen was sticking to his lungs, he felt like he was drowning and no matter how many times he inhaled he never rose to the surface. He was submerged in his pain.

“How does it feel, Ouma-kun?” Saihara lifted his eyes from the blood running down his leg in small lines to Ouma’s face, his head thrashing around as he didn’t offer an answer. “Ouma-kun, tell me how it feels.”

He spoke with a bit of urgency, enough to command Ouma’s attention and make him lift his head. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, and when their gazes met, the first one slipped out and caught on his cheek.

“It hu-urts,” Ouma let out a stuttering exhale afterward, his wet bottom lip sucking in between his teeth. “It feels like… I-It burns, it feels like I’m go-going to…”

Burns…? So, maybe he was feeling pain in a similar way. Not like Saihara had ever been stabbed in the thigh, but it was a descriptor that could be used for some aspects of pain, he supposed.

“...Do you want me to take it out?” He didn’t know why he was asking that, because it wasn’t what he wanted to do at all. And he wouldn’t say he 100% asked to check in on Ouma and clear his conscious, either. What he really wanted was to hear if Ouma wanted his pain still.

“No!” Ouma’s response was immediate, but too quick, as his throat caught his excessive spit and made him cough. Each time his body jarred, it made the exploding pain in his leg radiate hotter. He couldn’t do anything other than lay beneath Saihara’s hands and move around the box cutter stabbed into his leg.

“Don’t, hah, take it out, don’t… Leave it in, please.”

“Why?” Saihara could barely hear himself over the consistent roar in his ears, his blood running circles in his body as his thrill made his heart pump faster and faster. The little drops of blood seeped out around his hand and he wanted to stop it all with his mouth but he couldn’t move, he needed to wait and see what Ouma had to say.

“I don’t kn- Please, just leave it inside, please.” Ouma didn’t know why, why he wouldn’t want something that was stabbing him taken out. All he knew was that he didn’t want Saihara to take it out. He wanted to see it through to the end. He didn’t want the warmth of Saihara’s hands on his burning body to leave.

The begging was starting to hurt Saihara, he hadn’t realized just how painful his arousal had been until that point. Hearing Ouma plead with him to keep stabbing him was too much, it was what he had lusted after for so long. What he had convinced himself he could never have. What he was okay with not having, until now.

“Haah, okay, I won’t take it out of you…” Instead, Saihara began to move the box cutter toward himself, the mushy skin parting with ease against the sharp blade. Blood erupted from the deep wound and spilled over the sides of Ouma’s leg, the sheets below turning vibrantly red as it absorbed all of him.

The tearing pain ripped through his leg and up Ouma’s body, making him lose his breath yet again. The insertion he could handle, it sort of felt like the wind got knocked out of him and his whole body got hot, but the cutting was different. He was ripping apart layers of his skin and he felt every centimeter of it. The razor was so sharp, if it had just been the top portion of Ouma’s skin maybe he wouldn’t have even felt it. But it was plunged deep into his flesh, so he felt his brain shoot off into fireworks of pain.

“It’s amazing, there’s so much blood I can barely see inside it.” Saihara brought his face closer to the wound as he made it larger and larger, his hand steadily slicing Ouma open. The blood was so vivid and extensive it seemed almost watery, even though he knew it would be thick and warm if he were to touch it.

“Guh- ah, Saihara-kun!” Ouma’s voice warbled out a shaky cry, his chest lifting off of the bed in pure agony.

Saihara couldn’t hear anything outside of himself at all, all he could hear was his throbbing heartbeat as he leaned down and pressed his tongue flat against the laceration. He angeled the handle of box cutter away from his face so he could get as flesh with it as he could, and the skin atop the blade lifted into a small bump.

As his tongue began pressing into him, Ouma’s whole body convulsed at the feeling. It was just disgusting, Saihara’s tongue was playing around with the edges of his skin and it made him feel sick to his stomach. It was wrong, it was rotten and gross. He was being violated each time Saihara slipped his slimy tongue inside of him, a deep portion of himself defiled in a way it never had been before. He felt like he was going to vomit, but each time he felt his own blood smear up against the other boy’s face, he felt his nerves tingle. He had never felt so good from being hurt before, he couldn’t deconstruct how he felt in that moment into a singular, coherent thought. It hurt so badly and it felt so nasty, which was what made it feel so good.

“Hah, ah, th-the-” Ouma tried to swallow his drool, but it still audibly coated his words. “When you pu-put your tongue inside, it feels…”

He was incapable of finishing his sentence, because he didn’t know what he even wanted to say. He would have told the truth, that it felt horrible in the best way possible and that his toes were curling into the bed from his own excitement, but that would be so wrong. Saihara, afterall, was doing this as some sort of way to understand Ouma, right? He had asked Ouma to describe it, just because he wanted to investigate it and find out how he worked. He wasn’t hurting Ouma because he wanted him to enjoy it… right? He wasn’t hurting him because he enjoyed it… right?

“It feels…?” Saihara pulled his mouth back from Ouma’s skin and a long line of red spit connected his lips to the wound. It stretched and snapped when he licked his lips, the gooey liquid coating the entire lower half of his face. “How does it feel?”

It was what he had wanted Ouma to do from the beginning though, and it hadn’t changed. None of it was necessary, the licking, the stabbing, the box cutter, the bare skin, the heavy breaths against his thigh, it was all way more than what it needed to be. All he needed to do was tell Saihara how pain felt to him, but it had turned into this situation. And Ouma was starting to realize it was because all of the answers to his previous questions were yes. Yes, he wanted to understand Ouma, yes he wanted to hurt him so much he enjoyed it, yes Saihara wanted to hurt him because he loved to do it.

It turned out this way because of who they were, and the confessions Ouma had needed to give in his explanations could finally fall out.

“I-It feels like something is going inside. Like it’s deep, and- and really sticky and gro-oss,” Ouma’s eyes squeezed shut as he spoke, the small tears caught on his eyelashes reflecting a bit in the ceiling light of Saihara’s room. He looked really cute, telling the truth like that.

“Does it hurt?” Saihara was breathing heavily as he waited for an answer. He received one in the form of Ouma nodding, cracking his eyes open as he finally made eye contact with the boy slathered in his blood.

“It hurts… It hurts but I-” Ouma inhaled sharply when his eyes drifted from Saihara’s face to his leg, blood covering the entire area he laid on in a bright, red circle. He hadn’t even felt it, but now he sensed the liquid all around him, viscous and warm.

“It’s pretty, the blood…”

Ouma trailed off looking down at the mess of himself all around. Saihara watched him being transfixed by the sight of his own blood, his heart close to bursting out of his chest. It hurt, he needed to release it.

“E-Eh?” Ouma was pulled from his appreciation of his own pain by the sound of metal clanking, looking up to see Saihara undoing his belt. “Saihara-kun… Did your pants get dirty?”

Really, he was worried about something like that in this situation? Ouma’s mind never ceased to be an enigma to Saihara sometimes. If he was worried about something like that, why would he have worn his pants in the first place?

His kind of ridiculous but good-intentioned innocence fueled that insatiable desire inside of Saihara, shoving his pants down his thighs forcefully. Ouma was hitting all of his thirst-points specifically. Somehow, the more he spoke, the more he twitched as his blood dripped out, the more Saihara wanted to destroy him. One thing after the other, he was feeding something deep inside of Saihara that became this incomprehensible mass that only looked like Ouma beneath him, blood seeping into his sheets.

It had always been this way, though. Saihara sought Ouma out for this reason. The shifty way he moved, fluttering at the corners of every room and just out of his line of sight. How he slipped by unnoticed by everyone, like a wide-eyed ghost or something even more sinister. His coagulation of wounds that Saihara always observed and studied from a distance. He didn’t sexualize his pain, obviously, but he did have an interest in studying it.

Saihara didn’t care about real people, he couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed anyone’s company. But he always enjoyed Ouma’s, and he made sure they were together as much as he could. He had always been obsessed with Ouma, from the second he first noticed him, and it grew more severe with each secret that was revealed.

If he could just get to the core of Ouma, the center of him, he thought he just might shatter it to pieces and keep it all for himself.

“Ouma-kun, your blood is so pretty…” Saihara’s own fingers were painful against his erection, wincing as he pulled the band of his underwear down to reveal it fully. The slight grinding motions he had been making unnoticed into the bed as he played around with Ouma’s flesh had made him so hard it caused the other to jump slightly when it was revealed.

“S-Saih-”

“I’m glad you think so too,” crawling back forward, he grabbed onto the box cutter sticking out of Ouma’s leg and ripped it out as he spoke. “Because it’s me making all of your blood spill out.”

Ouma let out a small wheeze at the piercing pain of the blade being removed from his leg, his body freezing up despite the warmth pooling between him. Saihara’s hands were on his thighs, positioning the wounded one closer, and holding the other down, pinning him to the bed. They were searing hot, and they felt like restraints more than comfort. Even though it was Saihara holding him, Ouma was teetering on the edge of uneasiness. He had no idea what was about to happen to him.

“I can’t get enough of your blood, I can’t stop.” His whole body was heaving with his excited breaths, increasing in speed as he moved his dick closer to the deep gash. His precum was coating the tip and smeared against his abdomen, twitching once his skin was close enough to touch Ouma’s.

“Wa-wait, Saihara-kun, what are you-” Ouma was cut short, again, once Saihara pressed his wet dick up against his fresh wound. He was shocked into silence by both his disbelief and the burning pain. The flesh on his own that was violently exposed stung, until Saihara started rubbing up against it and it blossomed into a sweltering pain.

“I-It feels good,” Saihara let out a soft moan as he spoke, his hips rolling as he rutted up against the cut. It leaked more blood as he rubbed over it, the skin pulling and opening with each movement.

“Saih- What are you-” Ouma was gasping each time he moved, barely able to believe what he was seeing as his leg remained pinned beneath Saihara’s dick. It was Saihara’s, he never thought he would get to see it, let alone being used on him. Even more, it was smeared with blood, Ouma’s blood, mixing together with his own fluid. His head felt like it was going to float away from his body.

He let in a hiss of air when Saihara pulled away, the air stinging now as the abused skin was revealed. It seemed like everything was going to hurt him, including the pressure of Saihara’s full weight balancing on both of his thighs as he lifted himself up to hover over the gash. Ouma had a vague idea of what was about to happen, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

He wouldn’t say no, he couldn’t, because he wanted to feel Saihara inside. He wanted to know what it would feel like for him to penetrate him so deeply it caused him to bleed out on the bed. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have something shoved inside of his skin and muscle, he had never felt that before.

He wanted Saihara inside of him deeper than anything ever had been before, and when he slid the tip into his flesh, he felt himself spread open farther than he ever could for anyone else.

“It’s going inside,” Saihara could barely squeeze out the words in his high-pitched voice as he pushed forward. The feeling was indescribable, the warmth squishing around him and inviting him in more and more. He could even feel Ouma twitch underneath his hands, and he swore he was lifting up to meet him. As much as he could while he was pinned down.

He had always wanted to feel the inner flesh of someone on his skin, fuck into their insides until it was a jumbled mess. It was better than he could have ever imagined in his unknowing fantasies. Every layer of Ouma’s skin was tugging at his dick and beconning him back inside. To go faster, to fuck harder, to turn his thigh into his own fleshlight if he wanted to.

“Guh- hah, it hurts, it hurts, it’s ripping me o-open,” Ouma’s mouth was running as he lost his connection with reality. He was devolving into a mess, his whole body only knew pain and the pleasure it brought him. His own erection was straining against his underwear, and had been for some time now, twitching each time Saihara pushed into him and tore his body apart.

“Saihara-kun’s dick is insi-ide, it’s… My blood is…” He trailed off as he was ripped in half more, his whole body singing in pain. It was enthralling, he couldn't get enough of the sensation of this deep, unbelievable agony. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He always felt pain, it interested him, it felt good to him, but he had never felt pain like this. This was Saihara’s pain, it was the extent of what he wanted to do to him.

He couldn’t believe he was so lucky.

“So good, your insides feel so good, aha,” Saihara began to giggle as he moved, the blood squishing out in spurts each time he shoved his dick in harder. “Ehehe, I’m turning your insides into my fucktoy. How does it feel? Ah, are you happy?”

“It feels so goo-od,” Ouma warbled out, thrashing around against the sheets. It was difficult for Saihara to keep his balance with the erratic movements, but he did his best to keep himself inside of Ouma’s thigh. No matter what, he couldn’t leave the inside of Ouma.

“It hurts so much, please, please keep going.”

Despite Ouma’s pleading, the exact thing Saihara had always dreamed of hearing, he pulled back. His dick slid out of Ouma with a disgusting, slick noise, a fresh wave of blood seeping out of the stretched wound on his thigh. He had made it bigger, the skin around the used opening twitching each time the blood leaked out of the destroyed limb.

“Wh-Why?” Ouma lifted his head to look down at Saihara between his legs, a genuine face of hurt mixing with his unhinged expression. He felt empty and cold, he wanted the fire back inside of his leg, he wanted to feel the searing pain rip through him again.

“It’s not enough…” Saihara climbed forward, a hand on either side of Ouma’s head, looking down at him with his red-stained face and a crazed look in his eye. Crazed, but also oddly aware, like he knew exactly what he was doing. What he planned to do.

“It’s not enough blood.”

Ouma was silent aside from his shocked inhale, but he agreed completely. More would be nice, more of his blood spilled for Saihara would make him happier than anything.

“I want to be inside of you,” the way he said it signaled he meant something different from what he already had done, and Ouma felt his body suddenly light up. Did he really mean…?

“I want to feel it… It’s okay, right Ouma-kun? You want me to, right?” That was hardly fair, asking when Ouma was bleeding out from a major wound on his leg and dizzy from Saihara smelling like his own blood and spit. His face was hovering over the trapped boy closer and closer, and he felt everything behind Saihara’s body go blurry and dark. It was swirling, and none of it mattered, nothing else mattered other than Saihara.

“I-It’s okay, I mean, please. Please, I want you inside of me, Saihara-kun.” Ouma was so embarrassed he wanted to implode, why did it feel worse when it was about sex as opposed to visceral gore? But he was so ecstatic, his body was vibrating with a need to be connected to Saihara again, in the way he had always imagined.

Saihara smiled, and kissed him, his lips spilling over Ouma’s in a blanket of dried red. He immediately pressed his tongue into Ouma’s mouth and ran it everywhere, feeling every inch of the soft area. Ouma did the same, wrapping his tongue around Saihara’s and taking in as much of his spit as he could. They wanted all of it, all of each other.

Pressing his hips down, Saihara brought their erections together, and began to grind his hips forward. Ouma squeaked into his mouth instantly, the pain of Saihara’s leg rubbing against his bleeding thigh and the typical pleasure he felt mixing. The feelings were tugging at each other, but it was one of the best things he had ever felt. He never imagined he would get to feel this way, and with Saihara.

“Haah, ah, Saihara-” Spit rolled down the side of Ouma’s mouth as tried to speak with Saihara’s tongue tangled inside of him. The other boy was letting out soft moans each time he ground his hips downward, the mess of blood and precum covering Ouma’s underwear from his own dick.

Ouma was trying to match his movements, but his body was so weak, especially his legs, that his hips just barely left the bed. He couldn’t stand it, he wanted more of Saihara touching him, he couldn’t just sit there and be still.

Ouma dug his fingers into Saihara’s back and the other let out a groan into his mouth, his tongue slipping out to lick up the side of Ouma’s cheek.

“You’re so cute Ouma-kun, you feel so good,” Saihara whispered into Ouma’s ear and the other became unable to move, his whole body paralyzed by the air tickling past his sensitive ear and down his neck. When his tongue toyed with the shell of his ear, before his teeth sunk into the cartilage, Ouma’s chest lifted up from the bed and he cried out.

What Saihara wanted in that moment was to rip into Ouma’s pale skin with his jagged teeth, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t what he really wanted, he had something he wanted more than anything, and he couldn’t let himself be distracted.

Pulling back, he saw Ouma shaking beneath him, his large eyes filled with lust. Some remnants of blood were flecked onto his lips, and it suited him. The blood, the pleasure, the crying and the begging and the cum all suited him. It was the Ouma he had always wanted to see. In ecstasy, covered in his own blood, Saihara’s spit running down his chin.

Anchoring his hand beneath Ouma’s shoulder, and the other on his side, he flipped the thin boy over onto his stomach easily. Ouma let out a small ‘oof’, and flinched in pain as his leg slammed against the mattress. He attempted to lift his hips up, but Saihara placed a hand flat on his back, keeping him flush against the bed.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Ouma looked over his shoulder, seeing Saihara reach to the nightstand and rifle through a drawer. When he pulled out a bottle of lube, and something much larger, he felt his pulse jump to sit heavy in his throat. A thick kitchen knife glinted in the light.

He didn’t even know what to say, how did he ask the boy he liked why he had a large knife stored in his room when they had planned to hang out today? Right after he had revealed he could heal from every type of injury? Right after Saihara had asked if he could die?

“I’m pretty messed up, Ouma-kun.”

Well, that made two of them. As if it wasn’t already obvious.

“I’ve thought about it, I always have…” Saihara traced his hand lightly up Ouma’s thigh, the backs of them so soft he could barely believe it. How did someone get so soft? When he reached the waistband of his underwear, he pulled them down, using his strength to rip them down to his knees. Ouma was stunned from any sort of response when the rough fabric ripped past his still-fresh gash, making his body spasm in agony.

“What it would be like to cut you, to hurt you so badly you could never move again,” Saihara smiled at the thought, the cap of the lube popping open as he did. “Even when you were so nice to me and helped me with so many things, I thought about hurting you the whole time. Isn’t that messed up?”

He didn’t seem very ashamed of it, smiling the whole time as his eyes told a story of degeneracy. Just like Ouma had secrets, Saihara had them too, and it felt so good to reveal them.

“No…” Ouma shook his head, his face rubbing into the soft pillow. He stopped Saihara before he could continue. “It’s not… I want you to hurt me. Please hurt me as much as you want, Saihara-kun.”

And just like Saihara had accepted him, Ouma did the same with equal enthusiasm.

It was all just unlocking another part of Ouma he had done his best to repress, even more than Saihara had tried with his own sins. Pain was so complicated to Ouma he could never separate it, what hurt him, what turned him on, what he was scared of, what he wanted… It was a sharp ball in his head that tore him apart. But he knew now what it meant to be hurt with love, and it all made sense. This was all he needed. It was probably the reason he was made, to bring pleasure and feel pleasure endlessly, all without repercussions.

Assuming he couldn’t die, that is. But he had forgotten all about that as Saihara spread him with his hands.

He squeezed his eyes shut as Saihara began to finger him, the feeling of being stretched different from when a hole had been torn into his leg. It felt like pressure inside of him, wriggling around as Saihara began to explore with his fingers.

He let out a gasp when he purposefully hooked his fingers into his most sensitive spot, and slipped his other hand under his thigh, plunging it into the wound he made. He began to swirl his fingers to match the one inside of Ouma, mixing up the liquids that he had leaked into it only a short while ago. Both hands were causing Ouma’s sight to spin, the poster covered wall he was facing morphing as his mouth fell open and a broken sound fell out of him.

“Wow, Ouma-kun, you sound really messed up ehe,” Saihara laughed, putting pressure in both spots at once to make Ouma squeal. “Does it really feel that good?”

“It feels so good,” the overstimulated boy gasped out, his fingers curling into the sheets for something to ground himself with. “M-My leg feels like it’s going to break…”

“You’ll be fine!” Saihara sat back, grinning down at him with an almost menacing aura. “It’s Ouma-kun, so you’ll be fine!”

When Saihara’s fingers left him, Ouma began to convulse, his tongue left hanging out of his mouth. He didn’t think he would make it much longer, it was too much for someone like him. He was too weak, it was all so much, his head was getting unbearably light and each time Saihara put his hands on him he lost touch with himself more. He just wanted to touch him too, but his arms were weighted metal against the sheets.

“Haah,” Saihara let out a heavy moan as he began to rub his dick up against Ouma’s slick skin. More blood was leaking out between his legs, and seeing himself grinding into Ouma’s ass with the red all beneath him was enough to make him snap.

As he forced himself into Ouma without a warning, he wrapped his fist around the handle of the knife violently. The knife Ouma had forgotten about in his distracted haze.

“A-ah! Saiha-” Ouma clawed into the bed as he felt Saihara melt inside of him. Mixing up with him and connecting until they were one person. He felt so exposed, ripped apart from behind with a gaping gash on his thigh filled with Saihara’s precum, he had actually turned into his fucktoy. Just like he had said.

“It’s amazing, it’s so warm,” Saihara pulled himself out slowly before forcing himself back in, Ouma’s body below him jarring with the harsh movement. “It feels completely different from your leg, hah, it’s squeezing me so tight.”

Ouma was at a loss for words, his head lifted as his mouth hung open. He couldn’t feel anything above his waist, all he could feel was the mess below. All he could do was let out cries of pleasure each time Saihara fucked into him.

Looking down at Ouma from behind, Saihara felt a weird sense of power. Of possessiveness and control he had never experienced before. He finally had Ouma, had his blood and the deepest part of him, and he could do whatever he wanted. Ouma had turned his back on him, exposed himself in the most vulnerable position, and most would say he made a mistake.

“H-Hah, I can’t-” Ouma shook his head as his lower body began to throb uncontrollably, when he felt the wind get knocked from his body. It felt like someone had punched him directly in the back, and knowing who was there, he turned around in disbelief. Had Saihara really just hit him?

When he strained to see behind himself, he first saw Saihara’s arm, then his hand, then the knife it wrapped around.

He felt it fully after that, a radiating warmth from his back that spread to his abdomen, and up his whole body. A tearing pain that severed him in two, blood squirting out of organs as they split apart.

Saihara’s hips thrust forward when he made eye contact with Ouma, the other’s deep violet eyes filled with so many flitting emotions he could count them all on his hands. But when they settled at a shock that could only come from someone who has just been stabbed without their knowledge, he felt drool well up in his mouth. It was just so cute.

When he ripped the knife out, Ouma finally let out a fading noise that ended in a small cry. The blade of the knife hovered in the air over Saihara’s head, blood dripping onto Ouma’s back to accompany the growing circle from the stab wound now torn open.

“It felt so good,” Saihara said with a growing smile before bringing the knife down again.

“H-Hiie- Saihara-kun!” Ouma’s back flinched as the knife plunged into him again, his words ending in a wheeze from his throat. He hung his head downward as his neck lost strength, body close to shutting down from the constant goring.

“Ehehe, those noises sound so cute,” Saihara twirled the handle of the knife as much as he could, feeling himself reset all of Ouma’s organs with each movement. He was viscerally destroying him without stopping, addicted to the way the blood gushed into his palm with a squishing noise.

But his favorite was the feeling when he stabbed him, the skin popping then giving way to him without restraint. It was so easy to slice through, like a high quality cut of meat, and it was all for him. It was everything he had ever wanted, all of those years imagining tearing someone apart with giddy excitement, it was all in his hands now. Ouma was in his hands, Ouma was his to do with as he pleased.

“All this time, hah, all this time I wanted to do this,” Saihara’s words were shaking slightly as he fucked into Ouma faster and faster, his whole body melting at the heat inside of him. “I wanted to hurt you, I wanted you all to myself. I wanted- I want to rip you apart. I want to destroy you, Ouma-kun-”

Saihara ended his rambling with a groan as he sunk the knife into Ouma again, the other lifting his head to let out a breathy scream. He was losing feeling in his fingers, the tight grip he had on the bed loosening as the blood was dumped from his body. And the feeling of the knife shredding through his tendons and severing his muscle from his bone, turning it into loose meat that hung behind his skin, it was pulsing through him slower and slower.

Saihara liked him too? How long had Ouma liked Saihara? How long had he liked Ouma? How long had they danced around each other, watching each other from afar, spending every second of free time together, without knowing? Ouma felt kind of like a fool now, and a smile spread across his face when he realized.

“Hehe, Saihara-kun, it feels so good when you stab m- Hrck!” Ouma’s giggling was interrupted when he coughed violently, blood spilling out of his mouth as it splattered across the white sheets. It was metallic against his tongue, insanely hot as it dribbled from his lips in a mess of red spittle.

Saihara’s pupils were fully dilated as he watched blood drip onto the bed sheet from Ouma’s face. He twisted his hand around the knife again and ripped it out, the three holes on Ouma’s back blooming bright red and smiling up at him.

“Do you want me to do it again?” Ouma’s body shook as Saihara kept fucking him, his chest pressed against the mattress while his back arched to meet each of his thrusts. Their skin was slapping together loudly, and the whole room smelled like freshly spilled blood, a den of pure depravity that they created together.

“Pl-ease! Please stab me, please keep stabbing me Saihara-kun!” Ouma laughed between his begs, his head feeling disconnected from his body as the warmth spreading from his back made his whole body pulse in pleasure. “It feels so good, please put it back inside, stab me again, aha, again, please, haah, please, Saihara-kun stab me-”

The knife plunged into him again and Ouma moaned loudly, feeling himself sink into the blade as his lower half squirmed. At least, he thought it squirmed, but in reality it was only a few twitches as his body lost the ability to move fully. He grinned as Saihara’s hand pressed into him on the knife’s handle, and the other kept his chest flat against the bed, feeling him everywhere. Inside, outside, Saihara was covering him.

“So cute, so cute, you’re so cute Ouma-kun,” drool dripped from Saihara’s mouth as he spoke, mixing into the open wounds all over Ouma’s back. “Are you going to die? Are you going to die from me fucking you?”

Ouma let out a gurgle, a near-death sound Saihara never thought he would hear a person make outside of a computer screen. But in between the wet noises, there were giggles, Ouma’s delight seeping through his fading consciousness.

“I’m gonna diee,” Ouma smiled as blood ran down his chin, tears falling alongside it. But he wasn’t sad, the exact opposite. He was happier than he ever had been, he felt more fulfilled than he ever had before. The dull burning between his legs was making his head spin and the blood tasted like pure warmth. Saihara’s dick was messing him up inside over and over, his skin stinging each time is slapped against his own. It was heaven for someone as debauched as him.

“It feels so-o good I’m going to die. Ehehe, you’re gonna kill me, Saihara-kun, I’ll really die-” Ouma’s whole body began to shake so quickly it looked like he was shivering, the bloody sheets beneath him getting darker and darker. “I feel like- I’m actually going to die… I think I’m going to cum, I ca-can’t-”

At the mere mention of Ouma cumming while Saihara bled him dry, the other felt like he was going to blank. His thighs were burning from his constant grinding, and his abdomen muscles were weak, but he somehow began to thrust faster and more erratically. He could feel his body close to orgasming, his muscles spasming as he gripped the knife hard.

Tearing it out of Ouma in one movement, Saihara shoved the knife back into him, blood splattering up to cover his beaming face.

Ouma let out a wordless cry as he squeezed around Saihara, his brain firing out what was left of his consciousness before he slumped into the pool of his own blood surrounding him. The last thing he had felt was Saihara plunging the knife into his soft flesh, and the explosion of pleasure from between his legs.

As Ouma convulsed around him, Saihara sunk in as deep as he could, his hips pressed up against Ouma’s ass. The blood coating his hands and upper arms was warm and smelled so sweet, he pulled his hand back and drug his tongue up his skin to collect it in his mouth. The taste of Ouma was just the best, he couldn’t get enough of it, he dumped it down his throat as his muscles clenched.

“Cumming, I’m inside of you, O-Ouma, I’m cumming-” Saihara sucked on his bloody fingers as he came inside of the unconscious body beneath him. It was just like last night, but this time, he could feel Ouma around him, and taste his just-spilled blood for himself.

It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. There was no way he could go back to normal now.

Ouma woke up wrapped in completely bleached sheets and low lighting blanketing him. He didn’t feel sore, he didn’t feel dead, he didn’t feel anything other than the softness around him. And he smelled Saihara, he smelled him everywhere.

That scent was enough to wake him up fully, eyes cracking open to just the glow of two computer monitors. Saihara’s back was to him as he tapped on his loud keyboard, foot idly swaying beneath his desk.

Was he in heaven?

Shifting to sit up, the noise caught Saihara’s attention, the perceptive boy swinging his chair around at the small movement. Ouma froze halfway through lifting himself, Saihara’s haloed eyes on him causing him to be gripped in panic. What was he supposed to do after what just happened?

“...Are you okay?” Saihara watched as Ouma avoided his eyes, scanning the bed he was in instead.

“I’m not dead?”

“No.”

Ouma let out a breath of relief at that revelation, before he was immediately filled with something even more dreadful.

“What time is it?”

“Uh…” Saihara swiveled back around to check his computer screen before he returned. “6 AM.”

“School is soon…” Ouma went to move even faster, before Saihara stood up in an attempt to calm him.

“It’s Sunday.” Ouma relaxed slightly at this, his shoulders starting to sag. Then they picked up again, his body wracked with a new anxiety.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.” Saihara put his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

“Why not?” Ouma flickered his eyes up finally, pupils wide in the darkness. “You shouldn’t do that, it’s bad for your health.”

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’m fine, you didn’t need to do that.” Saihara furrowed his eyebrows at the ridiculous intensity of Ouma’s apologies.

“You only started breathing a little bit ago. I had to make sure you didn’t actually die.” He reached his arms above himself to stretch, revealing his lower stomach. It was clear of blood, meaning he had washed it all off of himself while Ouma was… Not present. Saihara was a surprisingly clean person.

He was so calm despite what had happened, it would make sense to wonder if he cared. But he did, he sat watching Ouma’s lifeless body for hours until it reanimated with slow, shallow breaths. He spent most of the time thinking about what he would do with a dead body in his bed, and about how much he would miss Ouma if he never came back.

But thankfully, he did.

“Oh, I see.” There was silence, until Ouma decided to grab at something. If this wasn’t heaven, and his real life was this blessed, he needed to desperately cling to it while he could. This was what he had always considered a curse, but now, he owed it everything. He couldn’t waste his life.

“Well… Did you want to um… Sleep together, then?”

Saihara seemed oddly shocked by Ouma’s forward suggestion, but he just nodded. He ran a hand through his messy hair and walked to the bed, sitting down next to Ouma on it. The bed they had just dirtied together was now filled with their presence again, and it was different now. The sheets moved softly as they were lifted, they parted easily as Saihara lowered himself between them, the warmth welcomed them both like they were one being. When Saihara’s presence was back beneath the white blankets with Ouma, he felt his body sink into the mattress as Saihara yawned.

 _‘He must be really tired,’_ Ouma smiled at the thought.

“Goodnight,” Saihara said abruptly, and the heaviness in his eyes was apparent in his sleepy tone.

“Goodnight,” Ouma replied into the electric half-darkness as he matched his breaths to Saihara’s.

**Author's Note:**

> AAAA hi!!! This is a Christmas gift work for the second year in a row to someone very very special to me...!! Them enjoying this is the most important thing to me, but if anyone else did that makes me happy too!!
> 
> They're always such a huge inspiration to me and they help me with my writing so much... Probably more than they know. So, merry Christmas, and I'll love you into the New Year! 
> 
> It's kind of fitting then that this fic is starting a series I've been wanting to write for a while with their help. Basically, Ouma can't die from any sort of physical injury (or can he....????) Because of the nature of that, this is going to be... hard ryona throughout. The worst you can expect is gore, nothing horrible beyond that. I do have my limits! But yeah, keep that in mind.... If you made it this far while not being into that stuff.
> 
> I was originally going to post this under anon but honestly I think the way I write/word things is pretty obvious so what's the point. Plus, I shouldn't be ashamed of a gift for the most important person to me!
> 
> This chapter was more focused on Saihara's point of view, so sorry if Ouma seemed kind of all over the place... Which is weird for me, the person who goes on and on with Ouma's inner monologue and is at a loss for what to say for Saihara's sometimes haha. But it was really fun! Next chapter will explain more of Ouma's history with his secret and his feelings toward it.
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed! (And kudos to anyone who gets the song reference (*ノ・ω・）) They really keep me going. And happy holidays!


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